I didn't know you cared
by DrWhy
Summary: In which Sherlock is dense, Anderson is fond, and Lestrade and Donovan really do care, or : The beating Sherlock received in Russia couldn't have healed that fast, could it?


**I don't even know what this is. *shrugs***

**Set after The Empty Hearse.**

It hadn't even been a week since Sherlock returned from the dead and he was ready to go back to solving cases for Lestrade. That is, he was trying to break into Scotland Yard to solve the cases, but was kept out by random nightly patrols at Lestrade's repeated "You need your bloody rest!" . Now, for the first time in three years, he finally had a case to solve without having to hide his face and identity from the world.

Sherlock woke up that morning bouncing from excitement. Of course, I say bouncing, but Sherlock Holmes doesn't _bounce_. He showered in five minutes, ignoring the bruises and cuts on his body from his...meeting... with Mycroft in Russia. Not to mention the bruises that John had inadvertently given him when he had first realized that Sherlock was still alive. Bruises which, by the way, were still smarting. Of course, I say smarting, but they were actually paining with an intensity which would have had any sane individual rushing to the hospital. Not to mention the blood which kept leaking out no matter how tight Sherlock tied the bandage. But of course, being Sherlock Holmes, he determinedly ignored them and dressed normally, and if his shirts were much looser after three years of hiding, he didn't care. After all, his body _was_ only transport.

Having suitably clothing said transport in his customary coat and scarf and deflecting Mrs. Hudson's protests of "But Sherlock! You need your breakfast! Didn't your mother ever tell you-" with a quick "Whatever you do, don't open the fridge. I don't want a decomposing corpse stinking up the flat." , Sherlock proceeded to catch a cab to the crime scene and joined the crime scene with his usual aplomb - Coat flapping behind him and cheekbones making every girl in sight faint.

"Sherlock! There you are! What do you make of this?" asked Lestrade. He was standing over a bed, in which a girl lay unmoving.

"No toxins in her system, no wounds, nothing." said Anderson, crossing his arms

"Snake bite. An Indian krait- the poison disintegrates and its fangs are rather slim… Don't feel bad Anderson. Only a competent forensic examiner could have found it."

Anderson rolled his eyes, with an air of- was that… fondness? Sherlock dismissed the thought.

"The uncle sent the snake in through the air ducts. He gets her share of the inheritance. Oh, hello Donovan."

Donovan and a rather dumb-looking policeman stood together behind Lestrade.

"Hello Sherlock." It didn't escape anyone's notice that she hadn't called him freak. He flashed a small smile at her, and then looked over the new policeman.

"New boyfriend?" asked Sherlock, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh, um, Dick, meet Sherlock Holmes, consultant. Sherlock, meet Sergeant Roman." introduced Donovan.

"I advise you ditch him." said Sherlock. "From his clothes, it's obvious that he's been married, thrice, all times to women who were financially beyond his means. He divorced them all within a month and now lives off alimony. However his meager *income* is obviously not satisfying, so he's marked on you."

Donovan, Lestrade and the rest of the policemen gaped at him.

"Wh-what do you mean _marked me?_" spluttered Donovan.

Sherlock sighed .

"Well,you earn more than him, but not so much more that you're out of his league, and you're desperate to find a boyfriend or someone to settle down with."

Donovan stared at him for another second before rounding on Roman.

"Is this true Dick?"

"O-of course not!" squeaked Roman unconvincingly. "S-surely you don't believe him?"

Sally Donovan gave him a hard look." I've never known him to be wrong yet."

Roman's attitude changed. The sniveling expression changed to a scowling one, and he glared at Sherlock.

"Why can't you keep your nose out of other people's business huh?"

Sherlock just turned on his heel and started to leave the building.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! FREAK!" screamed Roman. There was a click.

Sherlock stopped dead.

"Ha. I knew that'd get you" crowed Roman, still behind Sherlock.

"Sherlock" said Lestrade very quietly. "Do. Not. move"

"Dick, put the gun down." said Donovan.

Very slowly, Sherlock turned around.

Roman was standing there with a crazed expression, pointing a gun at Sherlock.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're not going to shoot me, Roman."

"Oh yeah?" he snarled. "And why's that?"

"Sherlock..." said Lestrade.

"You're not going to shoot me for the simple fact that your gun is not loaded." smirked Sherlock.

"What?"

"You stole that gun from Lestrade. Having had that" -here he gestured-" particular end of a gun pointed at me by numerous people- murderers, terrorists, kidnappers, thieves, neighbours, mobsters, my brother... I think I can tell when a gun is loaded. In fact, I pride myself on it."

Roman pressed the trigger, gun still pointing at Sherlock. Nothing happened. With a feral snarl, Roman launched himself at Sherlock and threw him against the wall, dropping the gun in favour of strangling Sherlock. Sherlock nudged the gun towards himself with his foot, simultaneously scrabbling to keep Roman's hands from closing completely around his throat . With a well aimed kick, the gun was in Sherlock's hand, and in one fluid movement he flicked the safety off and shot Roman in the leg.

"Are you okay?" Lestrade and Donovan rushed to him as some other officers pulled Roman away.

"I'm fine" said Sherlock, massaging his neck.

Roman, who was being carried away on a stretcher, caught hold of his coat.

"You said that it wasn't loaded." he croaked.

Sherlock adjusted his scarf.

"I lied."

"You bloody bastard!" Roman managed one more punch to Sherlock's abdomen before being carried away to the ambulance.

Lestrade and Donovan looked concernedly at Sherlock, who was doubled over against the wall.

"Sherlock? Are you sure you're okay?" asked Lestrade worriedly.

"Of course." rasped Sherlock, pulling himself upright and pulling his coat tighter around himself. "Now, if you'll just excuse me..."

Donovan noticed his hand holding his coat, and pulled it away. The coat fell open to reveal his light blue shirt stained dark red.

"Oh my god! You're bleeding!"

"Don't be ridiculous." sniffed Sherlock, trying to wave them away. "This is an old injury... Happened before I came back"

Lestrade broke the stunned silence that had descended on them.

"You bloody idiot! Why didn't you tell us?"

Sherlock stared at them, surprise clearly written on his face.

"I didn't know you cared."

**So, what do you think? Should I continue it? Leave a review!**


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